


Undertow

by constantlyinflux



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Horatio doesn't know a thing, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, William is a little desperate, also very tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantlyinflux/pseuds/constantlyinflux
Summary: There was a peculiar tenacity to the winds of the southern shore tonight, and William propped up his collar against the harsh bite of the cold, tucking his head in as he hurried across the street towards the small theatre. A part of him had been wary about leaving the Hotspur today, although he knew her to be safely anchored at the Plymouth docks.
Relationships: William Bush/Original Male Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	Undertow

There was a peculiar tenacity to the winds of the southern shore tonight, and William propped up his collar against the harsh bite of the cold, tucking his head in as he hurried across the street towards the small theatre. A part of him had been wary about leaving the _Hotspur_ today, although he knew her to be safely anchored at the Plymouth docks. He’d made sure that all the preparations for tomorrow were underway, and by now, the men were well attuned to each other. Nonetheless, he had hesitated. And the captain had insisted, then threatened to order him to leave _the bloody ship, Mr. Bush, if you please_.

So he had. But not until he was absolutely certain that the remaining work could be monitored just as well by Prowse. And not until he had watched the captain leave for his appointments with the Naval Hospital and Admiral Pellew. Horatio had put on an easy smile as he took his leave, but he had carried himself with the stiff caution of someone who was afraid to put too much strain on his torso. The lingering pain was etched into his exhausted features. The strain of climbing down the freeboard was enough to make him sweat. Not that he would have it any other way.

In a way, having the captain off the ship made things easier for William. Not that he’d stop worrying. He worried about him ashore just as much as aboard. Not even two days ago, Horatio had been more asleep than conscious. But he had also taken part of the concern with him, leaving William to tend to matters of the ship.

But when he found everything running smoothly and the men growing more and more agitated with him lingering around, nitpicking and searching for excuses to stay, he finally took his leave. And that’s how he ended up alone, roaming the streets of Plymouth.

He had to admit, however, that there was something exquisitely calming about being swept away by the bustling activity of the port city, without being connected to any of it. He followed the stream of people like driftwood caught in the tide and let his mind wander about without any purpose, for the first time in a long row of never-ending days.

Somewhere between bites of fresh bread dragged through thick gravy, he had decided to visit the small theatre nestled against the outskirts of the old town, a thought he had entertained for a long time now, if ever the opportunity arose for him to leave ship in Plymouth—which was very unlikely.

And yet, here he was, warmth prickling on his skin as he shed his overcoat and hat and made his way up the stairs. He felt tiredness clawing at him too, the stress of the past days rolling off his shoulders, but it was a lazy sort of fatigue that made him appreciate the warmth and the lights and the chattering surrounding him even more. This was not such a bad idea at all.

“William!”

He turned and paused. There was an uncharacteristic lurch in his stomach, like he had missed a step, when he spotted a ghost he hadn’t seen in years, smiling at him warmly. All thoughts had fled his mind. Fluttering heat and sickly uncomfortable surprise twisted his intestines, which he wrestled down as best he could and masked with a casual smile as he greeted the other officer.

“Thomas.”

Lieutenant Thomas Peyton was a tall, lanky Englishman with the natural grace of one who had learned to dance, fence, and ride at a very young age, and spent the rest of it climbing the shrouds and balancing the swaying decks of His Majesty’s ships. Roughly the same age as William, he was also undeniably, and infuriatingly, handsome. Which always proved to be a disastrous composition, letting him own every room he stepped into, drawing attention left and right. Unnerving at the best of times, right now, it was the last thing William needed.

“What a pleasure to meet you here, William! I heard you were scouring the Bay of Biscay in that little sloop of yours.”

Thomas gripped his arm, his voice, as always, louder than there was need for. And William, acutely aware of all the eyes on them, couldn’t do much more than smile and shift his stance a little so that the man’s hand would slip from his arm.

“We were,” he replied. “And I’m afraid our stay here is just for one night.” He tried to caution him with just his gaze and prayed the other man would understand.

Thomas, however, had never been a man of much caution, and it was moments like these when William despaired at the madness that had befallen him the day they both had met.

In a sweeping gesture of blissful, or maybe intentional, ignorance, Thomas put an arm around his shoulders. “I have balcony seats, come on, you’ll love it!” And he dragged a distressed William with him without so much as a chance to answer.

Aware that any form of protest would only draw more attention to them than they already had, William let the other man guide him down the corridor to the door of his compartment. The riches and amenities of a balcony seat were nothing usual for William Bush. He’d never had the money to justify spending it on comforts like this.

Right now, he would have preferred his aisle seat.

Thomas joyously manoeuvred him to a cushioned chair in the first row, his hand never leaving William’s body. Even as they were seated, his palm rested warm on William’s shoulder, and Thomas leaned in a little closer.

“Isn’t this great? Best places you can get in here!” He grinned like a young boy at Christmas, although William knew this luxury was nothing unusual to him. _His_ family had enough money to spend on comforts like this.

And Thomas loved to indulge William, who usually obliged him with appreciation. This day was a different day, however. A different time. And William felt more than slightly unhinged by the situation.

The play began, and Thomas’s hand had thankfully left his shoulder. William forced himself to take a deep, low breath and sink back into the cushioned velvet. Maybe, just maybe this was it. He could enjoy the play like he had planned to, entertain Thomas with chitchat afterwards, and leave for the docks without any more repercussions.

They didn’t even make it until the end of the first act. And William realised his hopes had been naive and frivolous. As if it were just a coincidence, Thomas’s knee pressed against his in the half-light. William suppressed an exasperated sigh and bit his tongue against the harsh reprimand gurgling up in his throat. He tried to focus on the play instead, but the words washed over him without leaving a trace in his mind.

This had been a mistake. It had all been such a huge mistake.

Next to him, Thomas shifted in his seat and leaned in close. The way their bodies now touched from knee to shoulder made the hair on William’s neck stand up in an unpleasant mix of strained arousal.

“I have a nice little room not far from here.” Thomas’s breath ghosted hot across his ear and cheek, knuckles brushing against his thigh. William felt sick. He was absolutely certain that he could feel each and every single pair of eyes on the balcony burning into his back. He kept his gaze trained on the stage without seeing anything.

“Will you bloody stop this now?” he ground out harshly between gritted teeth.

He felt more than he heard the other man’s huff of laughter. The hand against his thigh turned, palm flat against the fabric — “You’ll love it.” — and squeezed. William was on the verge of standing up, but then the hand vanished, and Thomas sat back.

William stayed seated, stiffly, hands clenched tightly. He hated the way this man got under his skin, loved it at other times, detested the way his body would react to this uninvited familiarity. But most of all, he loathed himself for staying.

He did not retain any memories from the play he had looked forward to seeing so much, staring blankly at the stage for the rest of the evening, with tense shoulders and a rigid back. Thomas didn’t touch him again. But his knee never left were it was lodged hard against William’s.

When the applause erupted, the anxiety that had been crawling up the nape of his neck fled like rats would at the opening of a door and left him with a hollow, sinking feeling of impending doom. William’s mind was going round in circles as it had done the whole evening, with no way out. Or none he could see. He knew he should just leave. He knew that he could. Just as much as he knew he wouldn’t.

He stood when Thomas stood and followed him outside like a stray dog.

Thomas’s excited chattering washed over him, seemingly unbothered by William’s silence. The other man’s hand was on his arm again, on his back and shoulder, clasping his wrist, skimming against his knuckles, brushing at imaginary specks on his shoulder after they had donned their coats—a myriad of entirely too intimate gestures on their way out onto the streets where the coaches were waiting.

William felt himself reeling in his own mind, raw and unable to pull up the walls around himself no matter how hard he tried.

Yes, Thomas had truly never been a man of much caution, too protected by the wealth and self-assuredness of his upbringing to worry much about what his dalliances could cost him.

William, on the other hand, had learned to become very good at concealing his penchants.

And yet—yet he grazed dangerously close to the edge of ruination every time he met Thomas Peyton. He’d never been able to end this. All those encounters over the years, different ports, different rooms, and he could never refrain from following the other man, letting himself be led to places lush with warmth and wealth, the luxury of privacy a scarce gift. He would let himself be touched and had, and he would relish touching and having another man. And he would have one rare night of a warm body entangled with his own, and then he would rise and get dressed in silent efficiency, putting on layer after layer of the world outside these rooms. And he would feel neither guilt nor shame.

Because William Bush had also learned to become very good at enclosing these nights and storing them away in tight places and dark corners, so that they might not infringe upon all the myriads of other nights and days of his life.

But something had changed. Shifted. Morphed into a creature entirely self-conscious in William’s mind. And as much as he had been trying to ignore it, suppress it, neglect its existence, he knew he was slowly losing control. Because this thing was as much a part of himself as those hidden memories, and it was sprawling, sticking tendrils into his heart and mind, places where it didn’t belong, where William didn’t want it to be.

It was the reason why he followed Thomas into one of the coaches, although he desperately wanted to leave. He was trying to convince himself that he only stayed because he wanted the other man. The feeble needs of human flesh. But he had never been a good liar.

Deep down, in those dark corners, he knew he was merely trying to substitute what he could not have with what he did not want.

The ride in the coach was remarkably restrained, and William spent the time staring out the window as the streets rolled by, brooding in his own anger. He was angry at Thomas for being so careless about how his actions affected William’s life, and he was angry at himself for being a slave to his own needs, too weak to draw a line where he should have. Should have years ago maybe. Wasting so much for so little was not his usual approach. And yet he had been rather carefree, telling himself over and over again that, as long as he wouldn’t attach emotions to this, it would all be alright.

And here he was, attaching emotions. Just not to the man in the coach with him.

He realised that Thomas was watching him, but he didn’t grant him the satisfaction of reacting to it and kept staring out the window. And for once, Thomas did not act on that, remaining silent himself. They could have been strangers sharing a coach if it had not been for the spot where their ankles touched between the seats and around which William’s whole universe seemed to swirl.

The inn Thomas had picked was exactly what William expected, upscale enough for his comforts, remote enough to grant him privacy. William felt his skin crawl. The sudden aversion to all of this was even more of a shock to him than anything else. Just a couple of years ago, he would have found nothing out of the ordinary here. Thomas behaviour would have been an extravagant nuisance, this place nothing short of perfect.

Thomas paid for a second room for his _good friend and fellow officer_ , then waved him upstairs where he would stop in front of his own room, a key dangling from his outstretched hand.

“Yours or mine?” he asked with a sultry grin, and William rolled his eyes and grabbed the key to open the door.

Someone had lit the lamps, probably in anticipation of Thomas’s return, but the bed was unmade, and the whole room was in a general state of disorder. It had always been a mystery to William how a man who had spent the bigger part of his life in the cramped confinements of a ship could live like this ashore. Then again, he did not know whether Thomas invited other men into his rooms as well. And he did not want to know.

The door closed behind him, and William closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and ridding himself of his doubts and fears. He wrestled down that creature residing in his chest and unhooked his overcoat, taking off the heavy fabric and folding it neatly in an act of defiance. He draped it over a chair and set his hat on the adjacent desk.

The clink of glass made him turn around to where Thomas was pouring port, already rid of his own greatcoat, hat, and coat. He took the glasses and held one up for William.

There was a warm glint in Thomas’s eyes, familiarity in that raised eyebrow and half-smile. He hadn’t changed one bit, William realised. And it felt desperately unfair to him because he wished he could be like that too. Unchanged.

With an air of finality, he stepped forward and took the glass. Thomas raised his own in a small toast, and they both drank in silence. William had to restrain himself from emptying his glass right there so that the heavy port might numb his straying thoughts.

“Who is he?”

William paused. He swallowed carefully in order not to choke, and then took his time to look around the room, deliberately evading all eye contact with the other man.

“Who?” he asked and finally looked at Thomas, who was watching him with an amused smile.

“The man you’ve been thinking about this whole evening.”

William frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then he turned around so that the sickeningly hot way his stomach twisted wouldn’t be visible on his face.

“Oh, come on, William. Really?”

William drew his fingers across the rim of the glass, his mind racing. “Yes, Thomas, really.”

“Fine.” Thomas was clearly enjoying himself. “I’ll play along. Then what is wrong with you tonight?”

And if that wasn’t an open invitation for William to willingly throw himself against with all his anger. “What is wrong with me?” He turned around to glare at the other man. “What is wrong with _you_ , Thomas? Do you want to _hang_?”

Thomas’s face lost a bit of that amused smile, but it was more defiant than anything else really. He downed his port and set the glass down before he started to tug at his stock, undoing it together with the buttons of his waistcoat while he paced the room.

“Well, maybe I was a bit… eager,” he conceded.

William snorted, and Thomas threw up his hands, facing him. “A lot then if it pleases you. We haven’t seen each other in years, William! And I never thought I would meet you here tonight.” And then, more quietly. “It is good to see you.”

The open honesty in Thomas’s face twisted itself into William’s heart in ways he didn’t expect and made him avert his gaze. What was he doing here?

“William.”

William just shook his head and stared at a small dent in the floorboards, pondering his options. Thomas walked over to him and took the glass from his hand, gingerly placing it on the desk.

“Will.”

He finally looked up, and Thomas gave him a rueful smile. “Come on.” Then he hooked a finger under the knot of William’s stock and started to untie it. William wished he’d had more port.

But when Thomas unravelled his stock and bent his head to place a kiss against the now exposed side of his neck, William’s eyes fluttered closed. He wanted to lean in and away at the same time. God, it had been a long time indeed.

Thomas’s lips scraped down his neck while nimble fingers undid the buttons of his coat and waistcoat and pushed them both open, making short work of his shirt buttons too, to allow his mouth access to his collarbone.

William struggled with it all, his thoughts not quietening down like he wished them to. Part of him wanted to let go and drown in that sensation, to forget, if only for one night. He focused on Thomas’s lips dragging up his throat, tilting his head to give him more room, that hot mouth wandering over his chin and lingering at his cheek, barely grazing against the corner of his mouth. In an unspoken rule between them, the origin of which wasn’t entirely clear to William, they never kissed. It was a testament to how far he was off balance tonight that William had to fight down the urge to just turn his head and kiss the other man.

“You can think about him if you want.”

The offer had to muscle its way through the heavy fog of arousal and agitation clouding William’s mind before he could make sense of it.

“What?” he rasped.

“Whoever it is you’ve not been thinking about the whole evening,” Thomas murmured against his skin, that familiar amusement back in his voice. One of his hands moved down between their bodies and brushed over his breeches where William’s reaction to his touch was all too obvious. “I’m not a jealous man, you know.”

William’s thoughts were rapidly catching up, but Thomas’s hand stroking him through the fabric drew up images he’d thought safely buried.

He could imagine him to be someone else, could he not? Someone else’s mouth against his neck. Someone else sliding to his knees in front of him. He knew Thomas would indulge him if he asked. He could imagine someone else on his knees, tangle his fingers into Thomas’s dark curls like they belonged to someone else. He could—

“Is he good-looking?”

William froze. It was clearly Thomas’s intention to spur on the image, but it made his mind stutter and halt.

“Is he younger?” More amusement. So much more than William could handle.

Thomas’s hot breath against his throat, that playful whisper, his hands on William’s body, it came over him like a nauseating surge, appalling and disgusting, cold sweat tingling down his back with sickening clarity.

Wrong. So wrong.

He grabbed Thomas’s wrist hard and pulled his hand away, stepping away and out of his reach.

“William, I—”

“I believe that is enough,” William interrupted stiffly. He fumbled with his buttons, erratic fingers trembling with anger.

“I just thought… I don’t mind, you know?”

He knew Thomas was being honest with him, but he didn’t care.

Mistakes. Mistakes. Mistakes. One after another. He should have never set foot into that coach. He should have excused himself from that balcony. He should have turned around and left right there in that corridor. He had made a fool of himself, and he had known right from the start.

“Are you really going to leave now, in the middle of the night?” Thomas was watching him adjusting his clothes. “Where do you want to go?”

William grabbed his stock Thomas had flung on the desk and draped it around his neck. He was certainly not going to stay in that second room. “I’m going back to my ship. There is enough work for me anyway.”

“Oh yes, your ship. That sloop you’re labouring on under that young upstart captain.” There was a peculiar edge to Thomas’s voice now, and William’s hands froze in the process of tying a knot at his throat.

“You’ve been his superior on the _Renown_ , have you not? I mean, he’s certainly handsome, but—”

“Don’t!” William hissed. He had taken half a step forward and glared at Thomas, who was clearly taken aback by his intense reaction. William grit his teeth to stop all the words gushing up from his recoiling heart. If Thomas knew, suspected. If he talked. It would ruin not only William’s life.

But Thomas’s thoughts were on a different track, his remarks nothing more than his usual talk as he rolled his eyes and poured himself another glass of port. “I know he’s your captain, William, but my goodness, what happened to you? You’ve been working so hard. The _Renown_. Second Lieutenant. That fuss about Sawyer, yes…” He waved his free hand dismissively. “But from what I’ve heard you’ve been dragged into this more than anything.”

With a full glass of port, Thomas walked up to him, studying him closely. “You should have something better by now.”

William balked at the paternalism. They stared into each other’s eyes, close enough to almost touch, but the heat between their bodies was a very different one now.

“I certainly don’t need to discuss my choices with you,” William said into the silence, his voice low and dark. He turned to grab his overcoat and hat, half expecting the other man to grab his arm again.

But Thomas just watched him as William moved through the room.

“No, you don’t.”

William stopped at the door, a hand already on the knob. There was so much he wished to say. Harsh words and explanations, all bundled up together. And he was sure Thomas held his own tongue more than he wanted. But William feared himself to be too agitated, his mind too troubled for clear thoughts. Whatever he could say might only make it worse. He didn’t turn around again.

“Good night,” he said instead and opened the door to leave. There was no answer as it closed behind him again.

The chilling night air hit his face and it was only then, as he stood on the street in front of the inn, that he realised he was still clutching his overcoat and hat in his hands. He paused, taking a breath, and dressed properly before he set course to the docks, with his thoughts whirling inside his mind like the wind around him.

It wasn’t easy to find someone willing to set him over this late, but when he was finally seated in the small boat, every stroke away from dry land seemed to shatter one more band around his chest, making it easier to breathe. And when they turned about next to the _Hotspur_ and William reached for the freeboard, he felt like coming home.

Mr. Prowse was on watch and had seen him from afar of course. William could only just stop him from waking half the ship. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into his small cabin, get a good night’s sleep, and then rise early to prepare the ship for the captain’s return.

Mr. Prowse didn’t object more than absolutely necessary before he left him to make his way below decks. Grateful, William took off his overcoat and hat, his feet carrying him safely through the dark deck and to his door. Where he almost stumbled into the captain.

“Sir!”

“Mr. Bush!”

The surprised joy on Horatio’s face, the genuine smile, and the fact that he was in stockings with his waistcoat hanging open left William at a momentary loss for words. Ripped from his state of mind and tossed into another unexpected situation, he fumbled for his thoughts.

“I believed you wouldn’t be back aboard until the next day, sir.”

“Oh, I think they believed that too,” Horatio grinned and spoke quietly into the silence of the night. He seemed almost giddy. “I guess they were so annoyed in the end that they had to let me go back. There was nothing more to do anyway.”

Horatio put a hand to his abdomen where William knew a bandage was wrapped tightly around him under his shirt. Pristine white, not covered in red.

“But what about you?”

“Sir?”

“The play.” Horatio regarded him with an amused smile.

William steeled his features into what he hoped to be a satisfying expression. “Quite good, thank you, sir.” It was all he managed, and Horatio’s gaze conveyed lingering curiosity. “But it is good to have you back aboard, sir.”

That worked well enough to draw the captain’s thoughts away, a broad smile grazing Horatio’s lips as he looked around the dark deck with so much fondness it made William smile too.

“Yes, it’s good to be back,” Horatio said, and his gaze slipped back to William. “But I should not keep you. You are looking awfully tired.”

And he was. The long run back to Plymouth had cost him quite a few hours of sleep every night while he had watched and worried over the ship and its wounded and feverish captain. This particular night now felt like one spent in delirium, and he was exhausted down to the bones.

Still, he tried to protest, but Horatio stopped him with a raised hand.

“No, Mr. Bush, you have done enough.” There was more he wanted to say. William could see it in his wandering eyes, in the way he drew in another breath, but then the captain’s mask was firmly back in place. “Get a good night’s rest, Mr. Bush. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Horatio nodded and turned to leave.

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Mr. Bush.”

William watched him leave on socked feet, a gentle, tired smile creeping onto his lips while he tried to find an answer to the captain’s curiously missing shoes. But it faltered just as easily, and before the onslaught of thoughts could engulf his mind again, he went for his own cabin, intent on getting rid of his clothes and into his cot as quickly as possible.

Let sleep have him and shield him from raw emotions, barely suppressed. Then a full day of work without time to spare for what did not belong here. Do not bring it with you onto this ship, William. Leave it at shore. Then let the _Hotspur_ carry you away. Away from it all.

On the fringes of his sleep-clouded mind, there was a thought. It watched him drift off, slowly circling around him, eager to tell him, tell him that the _Hotspur_ was also carrying part of the problem with her. But sleep had already engulfed him firmly, swaying with the gentle rolling of the ship. So the thought would wait.


End file.
